Star Survivor (The Sectors SF Romance Series Book 6)

by Veronica Scott

  “We’ll be landing in five minutes,” said the brother.

  Annoyed with himself for becoming distracted with contemplation of his unresolved relationship with Twilka Zabour, who was nothing to him now, after all, he leaned forward and began asking penetrating questions about the training program at this monastery.

  The place was as efficiently run as the audit results he’d perused indicated. He was given a large, luxurious set of rooms as befit his high rank and personal ties to the Lady herself. He spent the afternoon teaching an advanced class and was pleased at their level of knowledge and eagerness to learn. He endured a long, boring dinner with the Chief Monk, who was understandably hostile in an extremely polite way. The Lady liked to play her senior brothers against each other—the politics of their order were intricate and deadly.

  After dinner, there was entertainment, and finally Khevan was free to excuse himself and take refuge in the rooms he’d been assigned. Changing out of his formal all black, all leather uniform into a flowing robe, he wandered onto the balcony overlooking the city and caught himself wondering where Twilka might be at this moment.

  A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Frowning, he went to open it, ready to blast whoever dared disturb him at this hour. He’d taken pains at dinner to be clear he wanted no company, no member of the Sisterhood to share his bed. The angry words died on his lips as he beheld the Chief Brother himself.

  “Apologies for intruding on your private meditations, Brother Khevan, but this was just delivered for you.” He motioned to a lay brother standing by his side and the man extended a golden tray bearing a gleaming puzzle box made of red jade, intricate carvings on all sides.

  He stared at the container for a moment, fury gathering. How dare they try to command him when he was in their temple on a specific errand for the Red Lady? When he outranked every person here, including the man facing him? Jaw clenched, he said, “I’m not here to take a contract.”

  “And, of course, if the commission was for my own temple, I’d be assigning one of my own brothers,” the monk said smoothly. “I have a well-honed cadre, capable of any assignment. This was sent for you specifically, under the seal of Temple Home.”

  Something important then. Impossible to refuse. Khevan plucked the box from the tray with a casualness he had to work hard to maintain. “Well then, I have no argument. Thank you.” He’d be damned if he was going to open it in front of the lower ranking brothers. “Is there anything else?”

  The lay brother clearly wished himself elsewhere. The Chief Monk was made of sterner stuff. Eyes glittering as he took a final glance at the box, he bowed fractionally. “Not at the moment. My temple stands ready to assist in any way you may require.”

  Khevan acknowledged the offer with a slight nod and shut the door absently, rotating the puzzle box in his long fingers. Cold day in the seven hells when I ask for help from any in the Order. He walked to the bed, sat on the plush satin cover, and rapidly worked the mechanism. The Red Lady relished her rituals, her mysteries, and the archaic method of transmitting a special contract pleased her. Noiselessly, the lid rose to reveal a small square of parchment nestled on the cushioned red interior. The scarlet symbol for assassination glowed, written in what he’d been told was her own people’s language, now long dead and vanished. All members of the Brotherhood recognized it on sight, however, as well as the one for safeguarding life, which was their other, less utilized specialty. Every assignment and all contracts ultimately depended on Her whim. He plucked the paper from the box and unfolded the message, seeking the name of the one he was to hunt down and kill.

  Twilka Zabour.

  The dreams she couldn’t escape for long were especially bad tonight. Twilka tossed and turned on the huge bed in the city’s most luxurious hotel, more than a little afraid to seek more sleep. She’d clawed her way out of the nightmare where she was surrounded by laughing, faceless drunks, intent on living their last few hours of life aboard the Nebula Dream by passing her around among themselves. In the dream, there was no help coming, no rescue, and she woke screaming. Heart pounding, she lay still for a moment before reaching for the glass of water at the bedside. Should she take the meds her doctor had given her to suppress the memories?

  No, the prescription stuff made her into a robot who’d sleepwalk through tomorrow’s activities, and she needed all her wits about her in the negotiations. Taking the glass, she kicked her way free of the covers and strolled barefoot to the private terrace, high above the planet’s surface. Inhaling a deep breath of the flower-scented air, she took one tentative step onto the balcony, clutching the door handle with her free hand. Acrophobia was a bitch. As she sipped the water, she reflected on the irony that she, of all people, was reluctant to take a drug to quell the nightmares. “A legal one no less,” she muttered to herself. After years of enjoying all the feelgoods all the time with no regard for consequences.

  The view of the city was breathtaking, all colorful twinkly lights at this hour. Raising her eyes to the plateau, she took a deep breath. The Red Lady’s oversize temple dominated the horizon, glowing ruby like a baleful eye. Shivering, wishing she’d put on her robe, Twilka pivoted to re-enter the room. With a stifled scream, she saw a dark shadow standing beside the bed. Breaking the water glass on the door frame and holding the jagged base fragment as a weapon, she said, “I’ve activated my personal panic button. The hotel’s security detail will be here in a minute. Leave now and I won’t press charges.”

  He stepped into the moonlight. “We need to talk. Cancel the alarm.”

  Khevan. She sagged against the balcony door, allowing the broken glass to roll from her hand onto the carpet. “I told you, we have nothing left to discuss. Anything between us died a long time ago.”

  There was pounding on the door. “Miss Zabour?”

  He didn’t even glance at the portal, intent on her. “Send them away.”

  “The hotel has orders to check on me in person if the alarm is triggered.”

  “Make it fast.” There was a flicker and she couldn’t see him any longer. If she squinted, the air shimmered with a faint distortion where he’d been.

  Another D’nvannae trick. Giving the spot where he presumably stood a wide berth, she went to the door and opened it. Blaster in hand, the security chief scanned the room behind her. “Are you all right, Miss Zabour?”

  “I’m fine. I had a nightmare and I was confused when I first awakened.” She lied with ease. There had been such incidents before.

  “I’ll have to check the room.”

  Stepping aside, she invited him to enter with a wave of her hand. “I broke my water glass, so watch out for the fragments.”

  “I’ll have housekeeping send a robo to clean up the mess,” he said, moving through her suite with efficient speed. He scanned every possible spot a person could hide.

  “In the morning will be fine. I need my sleep.” Twilka forced herself to fake an elaborate yawn.

  The second man remained outside in the hall while his team lead finished the quick search of the room, closets included. Twilka stood by silently, occasionally glancing at the minor visual distortion where Khevan lurked. “Thank you for answering so promptly,” she said, as she escorted the officer to the door. For a moment, she was tempted to step outside with him and escape the conversation Khevan was determined to have, but she was angry he’d pursued her. And dangerously intrigued.

  Get this over with now.

  He’d gone visible again as she walked into the sleeping area. Hands on her hips, she said, “You do that often?”

  He shrugged, face impassive. “A gift from the Lady. At certain levels of the Brotherhood, new abilities are earned.”

  “And I’m sure you’re at a stratospheric level nowadays. I hope the goodies were worth it. How did you get in anyway?”

  “The locks and other security measures in a place like this offer no challenge. And stealth is a basic skill for the D’nvannae.”

  “I’m
aware.” Leaning against the door, she studied him. Part of her wished she’d taken a feelgood. Being alone with him was sending shivers through her and it was hard to concentrate. Hard to breathe. Twilka reached for the anger over how he’d treated her and the emotion drove the tremors from her nerves. Have to get control of this meeting. “Hand me my robe, would you?” Taking it from his hand, she slid the soft garment onto her body and strolled to the plush armchair. Sinking onto the cushions gracefully, crossing her legs, she said, “Your Lady isn’t going to visit me too, is she?”

  “I pray not. This night is complicated enough.” He stepped closer. “You cut your foot on the glass. You’re bleeding.”

  With a wave of nausea, she glanced down. He was right—blood was dripping slowly from her right heel. She hadn’t even felt the cut.

  “Stay there. I’ll get a towel and a packet of skinseal. The hotel does supply a first aid kit, doesn’t it?”

  “They charge enough, they’d better.”

  He returned a moment later, kneeling at her feet, holding her foot in one large, warm hand. “Flick the light on.” He cleaned the area with a warm washcloth, his touch matter of fact, but the skin to skin contact sent tingles up her leg into more intimate parts of her body. Twilka shifted her hips on the chair’s hard cushion and bit her lip. Eyebrow raised, he glanced at her.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” She shook her head, annoyed with herself for reacting so strongly to him after all this time, and the way he’d abandoned her. “Hurry up, would you?”

  “No embedded splinters,” he said, drying her foot and then spraying cool skinseal over the wound. He rubbed the area, massaging her toes with one hand while his other hand curled on her calf.

  “Enough. I’m fine.” Twilka jerked her foot out of his grasp and curled herself protectively in the chair, putting a loose cushion over her stomach. “You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

  Khevan studied her silently for a moment before gathering the bloody towel and first aid supplies and taking them to the bathroom. When he emerged, drying his hands, he sat on the edge of the bed.

  Waving her hand at him in a sweeping motion, she said, “Not a chance in the seven hells.”

  “What?” Eyes narrowed, he stared at her.

  “Get off my bed. No way are you getting laid here tonight, Brother of the Flames. I’m sure there are more than enough D’nvannae acolytes and groupies at the temple. Go back there. I’m not interested.”

  “There was a time you were very interested.” He rose and moved to the desk chair, spinning it to face her, and sat.

  She closed her eyes. Teeth clenched, she said, “Been there, done that, had the experience.” Reopening her eyes, she forced her voice into the old lilt. “Don’t you know we ‘Lites get bored easily? Never repeat a thrill?”

  He frowned as if she’d struck him, but then shook his head. “I’m not here to talk about our shared past.”

  “Anything we shared was so short, the experience isn’t worth discussing.” But, as she spoke, she realized his hair was now braided. He was under contract. So why was he here in her room? A D’nvannae under contract was single minded, wouldn’t deviate from the assignment merely to come talk to her.

  As if reading her mind, he touched his braid. “I’ve been hired for a kill.”

  “Why come and tell me about it?”

  “Because you’re the target.” He kept his gaze on her face, his own calm.

  The statement’s impact hit her like a burst from a blaster and she fell against the back of her chair, hand at her throat. “Don’t try to be funny.”

  “I’m not joking. The order was delivered to me earlier this evening.”

  The room closed in around her and she felt lightheaded. Next thing she knew, he had his arms around her, bracing her shoulders. “Breathe,” he said. “You’re in no danger from me.”

  “But if you have a kill order…” Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to escape, despite the utter futility of making an attempt. Khevan could kill her in the blink of an eye. She was a butterfly facing a cobra. Hyperventilating, she was afraid of losing consciousness.

  “Now you’re breathing too hard. Slow your respiration, calm yourself. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.” Holding her firmly, he forced her to meet his stare. “I will never harm you. Surely you know that? How could you imagine anything else?”

  “You already tore my heart out,” she said, pulling away from him. “Why not kill me?”

  Lips in a thin line, he released her with a tiny push and rose, pacing the room as if he was a caged lion. “Who would want you dead?”

  “Don’t you know who put out the contract?” She ran her hands through her hair, holding her head for a moment, trying to get her mind to stop racing. “Why does it matter? Once the kill order is issued, no one escapes the D’nvannae. It’s your Brotherhood’s guarantee.”

  “Our reputation.” He smiled, although his face was set in tired lines. “I don’t know who set this in motion. Unless the contract is made with a Brother personally, he’s never aware who’s on the other side. It’s none of our business, only the Lady’s. Think—what enemies do you have? Family? Business? Romantic rival? Could someone be trying to get revenge on your father for any reason?”

  “My dad has thirty-seven kids by an assortment of wives and mistresses. Generational billionaires can afford a giant family. It’s a status symbol. I’m not his favorite, not by a long shot. My oldest sister, the one who’s being groomed to take over the family business, is at the top of his list, or maybe my twin brothers who run his key subsidiaries in mining and shipping. I’m not even the adored baby of the family.” She made a face. “I accepted my spot in the family pecking order long ago and made peace wth how things stand. I’d be the last person a business rival of his would attempt to kill as a means of influencing Arman Zabour. He’d give me a pretty funeral arranged by his personal assistant, attend it as a holo, make a heartfelt speech, and be working interstellar deals five minutes later.” Shrugging, she said, “My family is what it is, no use pretending.”

  “So all the Socialite flamboyance you indulged in at the time we met was acting out? An attempt to get his attention perhaps?”

  “We’re not analyzing my motivations, not here, not now, not in the middle of the damn night,” she said. Rising from the chair, she belted the robe. “Want a drink? I sure need one. And maybe a handful of feelgoods.”

  He was at her side in an instant, gripping one arm so hard she knew she’d be bruised. “Illicit feelgoods? Is the Combine after you? Did you fall afoul of them?”

  “Organized crime?” She laughed in his face. “Hey, people give the Socialites their best designer drugs. We make great walking advertisements. I only dabbled in the light stuff—I don’t like to lose complete control—and I wasn’t a dealer. Personal use only. Gave it all up years ago. After the wreck.” Walking to the bar, she wasn’t surprised he followed. She poured herself a Taychelle ice vodka on the rocks and filled another glass with Suavarian brandy for him. Pivoting, she offered him the brandy. “This was your drink of choice, I believe.”

  He took it, draining the glass in one long series of swallows and setting it on the bar with a thump. “Try to take the discussion seriously. This isn’t a game.”

  “I’m not treating it like one. But I need a buzz to offset the terror of having a D’nvannae kill contract on my head.” She strolled into the bedroom again. “Romantic rival? Sorry, no joy there. I haven’t been involved with anyone seriously since…”

  “What about the man on the ship the other night?” His question was fierce.

  Twilka laughed. “Jord? Oh, please.” Head tilted, hand on her hip, she studied him for a moment, “I was trying to make you jealous, which apparently I did. Nice to know I still hold a little power. Jord and I go way back as friends and now he works for me. Yeah, we slept together a few times before he joined my company, but we found out what we have is a friendship, maybe with occasional
benefits, but nothing more.”

  “How about your business rivals?”

  “You have no idea what I do, do you?” she challenged him.

  “I see your face everywhere I travel in the Sectors,” he said. “Perfume, clothing, jewelry…”

  “All thanks to you.” Sipping the vodka, she walked to the balcony, avoiding the broken glass on the carpet, and stared at the glowing red temple in the distance. “Or the Red Lady, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You left me alone in that damn temple of the White Lady. I had no clothes except the ones on my back and a few shapeless sacks the monks donated. Even belted, they were hopeless.” She outlined her figure with one hand. “I’m proud of this body, but it doesn’t display well in sacks. I had nothing to do, nowhere to go. Kind of a quiet planet. So one morning while I still had hope I’d see you again, I strolled to the marketplace and bought several lengths of cloth from the local weavers. Paid one of the maids at the monastery to stitch up a few simple dresses from my drawings. Added locally tooled, tasteful leather accessories.” She smiled despite the ache in her heart. “I wanted to look decent for you. I can’t believe how lost and clueless I was.”

  He made a move as if he was going to come to her and she neatly stepped around him, heading for the bar and a refill. Over her shoulder, she said, “Once the monks politely booted me out, after it became obvious you’d returned to the Red Lady’s embrace, I asked my father to lend me a ship. I flew home and all the press in the Sectors was waiting for me, or so it seemed. Party girl who survived the Nebula Dream—what a story, you know? People were clamoring to get their hands on a copy of the dress I wore to the press conference because it was so unique, the prints so dynamic.” She tapped her forehead with the rim of the glass. “I’m not dumb, despite what you might think. I recognized an opportunity. I got in touch with Mara, used her contacts in intergalactic trade to buy the entire fabric stock in the town…” She stopped. It had been hard work; she made a lot of mistakes her first year, but she’d had the priceless asset of celebrity as a prominent Socialite already. Add in the fact of being a Nebula Dream survivor willing to capitalize on the experience, and the galaxy became the limit. Twilka Enterprises was on its way. “I might not be my father’s favorite kid, but I know how to run a business, how to leverage my fame. And he made me a generous loan on good terms. I’ve even been in a trideo or two, playing myself.”